Longer Kerrel fics
by dogelegs
Summary: More fics that I'm unlikely to ever finish, but thought you might appreciate anyway. One is Han/Veetor, rest are Kerrel.
1. HurtComfort, Post Rannoch

The hum of the Normandy's drive core is comforting. It's quieter than most quarian ships, but the noise is the same. It's still loud enough to drown out the sounds of celebrating people above. Shepard has ended a 300 year old conflict, which should be reason enough for Koris to celebrate with the rest of his fellow admirals and the Normandy's crew, but he does not want to celebrate tonight.

He wants to grieve. The loss of his crew has hit him hard, now that the war has ended. The adrenaline high that has kept him awake and dulled to pain for the last few days has ended, and now he is free to remember his crew. He could not join in with Tali's happiness, with Raan's pride. Koris is grateful that throughout his years as admiral, he has always maintained a sense of stoic composure. It is this reputation that allowed him to slip away from deck three unnoticed.

He glances down at the slowly growing pile of empty bottles that gather near his feet. When he left, he had not intended to drink much, preferring to remember his losses with a clear head, but as the Normandy's night cycle carries on, he finds himself wishing he'd brought more dextro-alcohol with him. The darkness of his surroundings is oppressive, but he enjoys it. It suits his mood.

Distinctive synthetic footsteps push through the haze in his mind. They pass overhead, towards the drive core, before returning, and it becomes clear to him that Legion is looking for someone. Him. The steps echo around the engineering deck as the geth descends the stairs.

Koris does not acknowledge the geth. He wants to be left alone with his demons.

Gerrel drains the rest of his liqueur. The mood of the room has changed from "Keelah, we're alive", to a more relaxed atmosphere. The mess hall is crowded by Normandy standards, but to a man used to quarian ships; it is easy for him to notice that someone is missing. Koris would think that his straight limbed posture had been mistaken for his normal mood, but Gerrel has spent years taunting him if only to see him lose his control. Perhaps not the best way to learn another's body language, but it has served well enough tonight. Gerrel could see right through Koris, he could see beyond the stiff posing.

That is why he asks Legion to find him. As Legion leaves by the elevator, Gerrel meanders through the crowd towards the turian leaning against the counter. Garrus appears to be regretting opening his dextro-alcohol stash to the quarians, if the longing look on his face is anything to go by. Unfortunately for him, Gerrel is here to relieve him of more alcohol. Garrus is nothing but observant, and has also spotted Koris' mood. He gives Gerrel turian vodka without complaint, stating it would ease the pain.

Legion returns then. It guides him to Deck 4, down the stairs to the area once inhabited by Jack. Gerrel can see Koris sat leaning against a pipe, bottle cradled in his lap as if were a child. As he considers the several empty bottles on the floor, he wonders if bringing even stronger alcohol was a good idea. It is too late to turn back however, as Koris raises his head and watches Gerrel, waiting for him to make the first move.

He's grateful that Gerrel has brought more alcohol, but annoyed that it's Gerrel who has shown up. Koris waits for an insult. In any other circumstance, Koris would not want insults, but tonight he cannot stand the way Gerrel simply watches him, pity clear in the way he stands. It is not usual behaviour between them. Their relationship is marred by petty insults and arguments, but then the last few days have not been normal.

Koris wants to turn time back. Before the war, before he lost his ship and crew to the Reaper-controlled Geth. He wants life to be normal, when his job was to co-ordinate the ships of the Civilian Fleet. Where the hardest tasks were allotting resources, and to guide all the ships under his command through Mass Relays safely. The hardest task in the past few days has been to send civilian ships to their demise. He has had to convince ship captains that the safest place for their ships was to remain in the Tikkun system, instead of leaving the Heavy and Patrol Fleets to scrap with the Geth.

It was a hard decision to give his location to Shepard when he came to rescue him. When he was on the shuttle with Shepard however, there were no feelings. He felt nothing even as he tried to contact his crew, to see if any were still alive.

Gerrel still hasn't moved. It is clear that he intends to stay with Koris. He is not grateful, but angry. He wants to be left alone to his alcohol. He says as much. The words are heavily slurred, as to be expected from someone who does not drink much.

Gerrel's only response is to shake his head, and shift his weight from one foot to the other. Koris repeats his previous statement. There is no response. He finds that the anger that has been carefully controlled all evening is now rapidly rising to surface, made evident in the way his hands grip at his bottle, and the way his body shakes. Koris cannot comprehend why Gerrel is refusing to leave. He has very little control left now.

Gerrel steps forward, extending his arm to offer the alcohol he is carrying. Koris is having none of it however. Gerrel is invading his temporary sanctuary. He is tired of being an admiral, of being responsible for his people. The muscles in his arm contract and relax seemingly of their own accord, and the bottle in his hand is sent towards Gerrel.

Gerrel is grateful that Koris is drunk and his aim is off. There is a crack close behind his head as the bottle makes contact with the wall. If Koris were sober, he doubts he could have dodged it. He pauses and waits to see if Koris will sling another at him. He won't run out of bottles anytime soon. He is only partly leaning against the wall now, his entire body shaking.

Gerrel isn't sure whether to feel pity or amusement. Neither seems like it would be well received. In the midst of this moment, all Gerrel can think about is that after years of trying, he has finally broken Koris' self control. He doesn't feel proud of it though. His personal feelings are irrelevant right now, though, so he moves towards Koris again. It appears that the bottle wasn't entirely intentional, as Koris turns his head away, as if ashamed. He almost appears to be curling up on himself as his shoulders hunch.

Finally, he is standing in front of Koris, but Koris still does not raise his head. Gerrel extends his arm towards the other admiral, resting it on his shoulder. It's not much, but he hopes to show that at least _someone _cares, that someone has noticed.


	2. Skycar sex? Sounds Crashtastic

FUCK YER FANCY FANFIC IM GONNA WRITE PR0NZ

"That gear shift was sloppy."

Koris does not react. Not even a muscle twitches; he carries on piloting the skycar as if Gerrel wasn't there. To acknowledge the comment would mean letting Gerrel know that he had got to him, and Gerrel would therefore be insufferable for days.

Besides, he knows that a lack of reaction will provoke Gerrel into... more extreme methods of getting a raise out of him. Inwardly, he allows himself to smirk at the appropriateness of the phrase as Gerrel shifts in the seat beside him, realising that he was not getting a reaction.

The only noise for the next few minutes is the sound of the skycar as Koris sends it flying over the surface of Rannoch. He never fails to be amazed that after the Reaper War, the peace between the quarians and the geth stayed strong. After the relays were repaired and the rest of the flotilla returned home, he had expected to wake up one morning to the news that Gerrel had punched a geth. Home. It still seemed strange and unfamiliar to call a planet home after spending so long on a ship, travelling from star cluster to star cluster.

Koris' mind drifted off into more pleasant memories of life on the starship, the feelings of camaraderie amongst his fellow quarians, those same feelings now starting to be extended towards the geth as they helped the quarians adjust to life on Rannoch.

"Your driving is terrible. Driving is meant to be exciting. You know, _loosen up a little._ Have a little fun." Just like that, the magic is gone. Koris huffs slightly. Regardless of Gerrel's personal views on driving, the fact remains that they are members of the Admiralty board and are expected to remain pictures of decorum. He was not about to change that now, even if the ladar shows them to be the only beings within a hundred miles, organic or synthetic.

Gerrel and Koris, however, are similar in more ways than they like to admit. They are both stubborn and always unwilling to back down when the other is involved. Everything is a challenge, and Koris' lack of reaction has presented Gerrel with a very interesting task.

Gerrel brings up his omnitool as Koris watches out of the side of his eyes. This is a game that they have played before. They wait, seeing if the other will back down first. They both know how it will play out. So Koris waits, concentrating on not sending them into the steep cliff walls that dot Rannoch's surface as Gerrel begins to type into his omnitool.

The first flickers of Gerrel's hacking start at the top of his back, progressing slowly downwards towards his ass. The nerve stim program simulates the sensation of Gerrel's hands squeezing, and the feeling is aided by Koris' own fuzzy memories of their drunken one night stand. Gerrel twists in his seat to face Koris, waiting for him to show any signs of loosening up.

Gerrel continues to type into his omnitool, and the nerve stim program changes now, the sensation starts to move from his ass around his hips, still feeling like there are ghost hands that drift under his exosuit. The hands grip his hips, and a new pressure joins the others – directly between his legs.

Koris huffs again, exhaling between his teeth. No matter how slight his breath is, Gerrel still picks up on it. Koris does not need to turn round to know that Gerrel is starting to smirk under his mask. He can almost sense it. The pressure between his thighs changes and moves, simulating the way Gerrel had ground against him, his hands on Koris' hips, pulling him closer. The memory affects Koris more than he likes, sending a shiver, and blood, rushing down his spine to settle in an uncomfortable ache in his belly. He does not like that Gerrel has this power over him.

Gerrel notices his discomfort. He always does. He changes the nerve stimulation once again, so now it feels like a ghost hand is dancing around his cock, running its fingers from the base to tip.


	3. This is mean and dirty

Veetor curls up on his bed, pulling the covers towards his chest. Uncontrollable shudders run through his body as he lies there, whimpering slightly. The Admirals terrify him with their imposing presence. Even so, he knows deep in the depths and eddies of his mind, that they mean no harm.

_ Except that's a lie_. A dim memory struggles to the surface, one of both sharp pains and dull aches. He tightens his grip on the blankets, his whimpering turning into a quiet whine. It's not quiet enough, however, because his doctor hears. The door opens as Elan'Shiya approaches. Veetor doesn't look up. He doesn't want to. She's here to give him the drugs again, he can tell. Her hands are gentle as she strokes his shoulder, but in his head, it's just a ruse to make him lower his guard. He won't let it happen again.

Elan sighs in frustration. She wants to help Veetor. She knows perfectly well why he's currently like this. She wants to take her anger out on the problem, but doing so wouldn't just be harming her. Nobody else could possibly help Veetor. Elan's head sinks to her chest as she regards the shaking quarian in front of her. She is about to try and help him again, when the source of her anger steps into the room.

"Hello, Veetor." The deceptively charming voice of Admiral Han'Gerrel vas Neema has a distinct effect on Veetor. He jerks upright, staring at the admiral, before trying to shuffle towards the wall. He gets caught in his sheets, however. Elan's heart sinks. Veetor needs her help so badly, but she's learnt her lesson from last time. Nothing goes without Gerrel's approval.

Gerrel watches Veetor impassively. Elan shudders inside her suit. Where she had once looked up to the admiral, she now finds herself shrinking away from his presence. Inwardly, she begs Veetor to get up, to move, _to do anything_ that didn't make him seem crazy. _Get up Veetor! _It's to no avail. Veetor doesn't move, staying curled up on the bed as Gerrel steps towards him. He pauses as he reaches the bed, looking down at Veetor.

"You can leave now, Doctor. I will question Veetor privately." It's a clear dismissal, but Elan doesn't want to leave. She knows what will happen. Gerrel will leave, and she will walk in to find Veetor curled up in the corner sobbing. She wouldn't have to open his exosuit up fully to find bruises smattering his body.

"Doctor. I believe I gave you an order." His voice has barely changed, yet she can still detect the veiled threat. Defeated, she left. Gerrel turns to face Veetor again. Stepping towards him, he trails his hands up the trembling quarian's leg. Veetor jerks it away from him. Insistent, he leans down and pulls Veetor upright, almost in an embrace. His intentions, however, are not friendly.

Gerrel pulls Veetor's arms above his head in a cross, holding them with one arm. Veetor whines as he feels his arms stretch, pulling him up tight onto his toes. Gerrel's free hand is roaming, tracing the edges of Veetor's exosuit. Veetor struggles, twisting and turning. It's almost like his trying to dig his way through the wall with his shoulder blades. It's to no avail, because Gerrel grabs his hip and pulls him closer, pressing his body against him. Gerrel pushes him down, down onto his knees so his head is level with the admiral's crotch.

Hands grab at the edge of his mask, feeling for the catch. He tries to twist his head back, but Gerrel is far stronger than him. Clicks sound as the mask begins to pull free. His thoughts are all clamouring for attention, each as loud as the next. Images swim in his mind, of the monsters, the swarms, and of Gerrel. Whimpers escape his throat as he tastes non-filtered air. His mask is tossed to side. Veetor won't look up at Gerrel, he can't, and Gerrel can't make him. He trains his gaze down at the floor, refusing to acknowledge what is about to happen.

"You can't fight me, Veetor. Remember what happened last time? Remember how sick you felt afterwards? Relax. Just let it happen." Veetor shakes his head as Gerrel starts to remove pieces of his exosuit. He wants to shout for help, because he is meant to be _safe _here, Tali said so. _She'd promised! _She'd lied, of course. Elan had lied. Elan was next door, she knew Gerrel was here, she knew what was happening and wouldn't help him.

Gerrel drags his cock over Veetor's unmasked face. He closes his eyes and his mouth tight shut. He won't do it again. He'll throw up if Gerrel makes him. Gerrel will punch him, he'll have incriminating bruises that'll be hidden by his exosuit for days, but he won't do it.

"Open your mouth." Gerrel's voice is low, demanding. He shakes his head again. _No!_ Hands find his face again, gripping his jaw and forcing it open. A sob escapes his mouth. Gerrel presses in, pushing right in. Tears escape his eyes as he tries to breathe. Gerrel's hands keep his face still as he thrusts, head tilted back. Veetor struggles with his gag reflex as the head of Gerrel's cock brushes against the back of his throat. Saliva trickles out the side of his mouth and down his throat. He starts coughing, he can't help it. Gerrel pulls out, wiping his dick on Veetor's face. He cuffs Veetor round the head.

"Bosh'tet." Gerrel grips his shoulders and pulls him upright. Veetor is turned to face the wall. Somewhere in his fractured thoughts, the part of his mind that is still rational realises what is happening, calls a warning, but it's no use. Gerrel's hands pull at his exosuit, opening it up, exposing his ass to the fresh air of the room. Gerrel presses his body close to Veetor's, rubbing his dick in the cleft of Veetor's ass. Veetor struggles, but Gerrel is so much stronger and heavier than him. Gerrel's hands grab his hips to keep him still


End file.
